Walking into the dank, foul-smelling pub, I gingerly lifted the moth-eaten black curtain that hung in the door frame with a tense finger. In my other hand I clutched the small scrap of cardboard, which was curling up at the edges. My grip tightened as I took in my surroundings, and I realized that my presence would not go unnoticed as I’d hoped.
I was dressed in what I initially imagined to be a tough-looking ensemble: tight black denim pants, a black t-shirt, and a studded belt, completed by a pair of thigh-high leather combat boots I obtained only a few weeks prior. My hair lay shiny and smooth along my shoulders, and I applied two coats of mascara that morning, as if that would strengthen my resolve. The inhabitants of the filthy bar seemed to blend in with the furniture, as though they had simply grown from out of their seats, their roots deeply buried in the foundation of the place. I could just make out yellowing, bloodshot eyes, several of them, staring out at me through tangled, matted thickets of unkempt hair that sat atop bodies like mossy tree trunks. These nondescript men were as much a part of the bar as oxygen is part of the atmosphere, and this thought both saddened and repulsed me. I held my head high, strutting defiantly over the rotting wood floor to the patch of wall used for posting jobs or other inquiries. I could feel lecherous eyes sliding over my body, down my legs like slugs. I shook them off and approached the board, affixing my notice to the mottled cork with a rusty tack. *** I returned to the pub two hours later, as the bartender informed me that call board traffic was pretty heavy these days, and was pleasantly surprised to find a small group of people sitting around the largest grubby wooden table. Two men and a woman sat around the table, chatting awkwardly as if they did not know one another. I approached the table, feeling a lightness in my heart – I couldn’t believe I’d received a response already. “Hello, are you all responding to my job posting?” I adjusted my shirt hem. I was wearing the very same outfit I’d worn during my last trip to the bar. Though it garnered unwanted attention, it boosted my confidence and, so I thought, my tough exterior. These people would know that I was here to talk business, nothing more. “I’m Robert Winston,” said the taller man, standing up to shake my hand. My hand grasped his fingers gingerly; I wasn’t entirely keen on having physical contact in such an unhygienic place. I smiled back at him, examining his unremarkable face. His hair was the same color as the dust that coated the floor. I wouldn’t have noticed him in a crowded room. His eyes, though, had a different quality – a wisdom that far outlasted his apparent age. “Claire. It’s a pleasure.” I let go of his hand, and he sat back in his chair. The shifty man seated at the corner of the table was glancing around the pub, not bothering to make eye contact. I decided to ignore him. “Bordeaux Thoruss,” offered the ginger-haired young woman, though she remained in her seat with her arms crossed. I was interested to see a woman responding so readily to my inquiry, especially a woman of Bordeaux’s slight stature. “So, what is the objective of your venture? We know you need help on the road, but where are we headed?” Winston jumped in right off the bat, not wanting to waste any time. I opened my mouth to answer, when I noticed another man entering the pub. He looked relatively clean and healthy, and therefore not a usual tenant of the pub; I wondered immediately if he was here in response to my posting. “Well, I’m looking to get to the Apple Store, the headquarters of the Keepers.” I watched the intriguing new man out of the corner of my eye as he stopped to converse with the bartender. I couldn’t help but notice his muscle-toned arms, his tanned skin, his five-o-clock shadow. His jaw was prominent and his face chiseled. But suddenly both the man and the bartender looked over at our group. I flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring, and turned back to elaborate on Winston’s question. “I’m looking to trade for some information, and I’ve heard the Keepers might know something.” I wasn’t sure how much I should really give away, as I realized that these strangers could easily by spies for some other faction. “What do you have that will make them talk?” Bordeaux chimed in. Her voice grated on me, though her tone was friendly. “Well –“ I cut off my speech as I noticed the attractive man inching closer to our conversation. Could he possibly be a spy? He surprised me by walking up to me and introducing himself. “Hey, I’m Rio. Will told me you’re recruiting volunteers for a mission. That true? Why here?” Despite the aggressive barrage of questions, the light in his eyes danced, and he appeared to be mostly curious. He had a face I felt I could trust.
“Absolutely – I am setting out on a mission and needed assistance. And I don’t think the reason I chose this place to recruit is relevant to you, is it?” I affixed him with a semi-flirtatious stare, an unfamiliar expression for so long. “I’m sure you care more about the reward than about where I am recruiting. Am I right?” I knew his type – I could read it all over his face; he’s a vagabond, one who thrives on goods and trading. With a sheepish grin, he agreed. I proceeded with my pitch to the group. “I have some technology that I am sure the Keepers will be interested in. I will get my information by trading tech to them. What I’m looking to do is travel to their headquarters, gathering some additional tech pieces along the way.” The group seemed to agree, even the shifty one who hadn’t spoken yet. “What’s your name, sir?” “Ian Danver.” His voice stammered and stuttered, and I was not sure what he was so nervous about. He returned to his glancing. “Okay. Anyway, I am not totally interested in why you are all here, or your personal histories. I only want confirmation that you can help make this journey a little simpler for me.” Silence. “I should mention there will be a reward.” I was not sure if I could give a reward that would be worthwhile, but I figure we’ll find things on the way. One by one, the hodge-podge mix of people agreed to assist me in my journey to finding my parents. Things were working out in my favor. I couldn’t help but think with fondness of the imp with the fuzzy teeth who led me to this juncture. With a group of four people in my wake, I returned to my house for the last time.
Walking into the dank, foul-smelling pub, I gingerly lifted the moth-eaten black curtain that hung in the door frame with a tense finger. In my other hand I clutched the small scrap of cardboard, which was curling up at the edges. My grip tightened as I took in my surroundings, and I realized that my presence would not go unnoticed as I’d hoped.
I was dressed in what I initially imagined to be a tough-looking ensemble: tight black denim pants, a black t-shirt, and a studded belt, completed by a pair of thigh-high leather combat boots I obtained only a few weeks prior. My hair lay shiny and smooth along my shoulders, and I applied two coats of mascara that morning, as if that would strengthen my resolve.
The inhabitants of the filthy bar seemed to blend in with the furniture, as though they had simply grown from out of their seats, their roots deeply buried in the foundation of the place. I could just make out yellowing, bloodshot eyes, several of them, staring out at me through tangled, matted thickets of unkempt hair that sat atop bodies like mossy tree trunks. These nondescript men were as much a part of the bar as oxygen is part of the atmosphere, and this thought both saddened and repulsed me.
I held my head high, strutting defiantly over the rotting wood floor to the patch of wall used for posting jobs or other inquiries. I could feel lecherous eyes sliding over my body, down my legs like slugs. I shook them off and approached the board, affixing my notice to the mottled cork with a rusty tack.
***
I returned to the pub two hours later, as the bartender informed me that call board traffic was pretty heavy these days, and was pleasantly surprised to find a small group of people sitting around the largest grubby wooden table. Two men and a woman sat around the table, chatting awkwardly as if they did not know one another. I approached the table, feeling a lightness in my heart – I couldn’t believe I’d received a response already.
“Hello, are you all responding to my job posting?” I adjusted my shirt hem. I was wearing the very same outfit I’d worn during my last trip to the bar. Though it garnered unwanted attention, it boosted my confidence and, so I thought, my tough exterior. These people would know that I was here to talk business, nothing more.
“I’m Robert Winston,” said the taller man, standing up to shake my hand. My hand grasped his fingers gingerly; I wasn’t entirely keen on having physical contact in such an unhygienic place. I smiled back at him, examining his unremarkable face. His hair was the same color as the dust that coated the floor. I wouldn’t have noticed him in a crowded room. His eyes, though, had a different quality – a wisdom that far outlasted his apparent age.
“Claire. It’s a pleasure.” I let go of his hand, and he sat back in his chair. The shifty man seated at the corner of the table was glancing around the pub, not bothering to make eye contact. I decided to ignore him.
“Bordeaux Thoruss,” offered the ginger-haired young woman, though she remained in her seat with her arms crossed. I was interested to see a woman responding so readily to my inquiry, especially a woman of Bordeaux’s slight stature.
“So, what is the objective of your venture? We know you need help on the road, but where are we headed?” Winston jumped in right off the bat, not wanting to waste any time. I opened my mouth to answer, when I noticed another man entering the pub. He looked relatively clean and healthy, and therefore not a usual tenant of the pub; I wondered immediately if he was here in response to my posting.
“Well, I’m looking to get to the Apple Store, the headquarters of the Keepers.” I watched the intriguing new man out of the corner of my eye as he stopped to converse with the bartender. I couldn’t help but notice his muscle-toned arms, his tanned skin, his five-o-clock shadow. His jaw was prominent and his face chiseled. But suddenly both the man and the bartender looked over at our group. I flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring, and turned back to elaborate on Winston’s question.
“I’m looking to trade for some information, and I’ve heard the Keepers might know something.” I wasn’t sure how much I should really give away, as I realized that these strangers could easily by spies for some other faction.
“What do you have that will make them talk?” Bordeaux chimed in. Her voice grated on me, though her tone was friendly.
“Well –“ I cut off my speech as I noticed the attractive man inching closer to our conversation. Could he possibly be a spy? He surprised me by walking up to me and introducing himself.
“Hey, I’m Rio. Will told me you’re recruiting volunteers for a mission. That true? Why here?” Despite the aggressive barrage of questions, the light in his eyes danced, and he appeared to be mostly curious. He had a face I felt I could trust.
“Absolutely – I am setting out on a mission and needed assistance. And I don’t think the reason I chose this place to recruit is relevant to you, is it?” I affixed him with a semi-flirtatious stare, an unfamiliar expression for so long. “I’m sure you care more about the reward than about where I am recruiting. Am I right?” I knew his type – I could read it all over his face; he’s a vagabond, one who thrives on goods and trading.
With a sheepish grin, he agreed. I proceeded with my pitch to the group.
“I have some technology that I am sure the Keepers will be interested in. I will get my information by trading tech to them. What I’m looking to do is travel to their headquarters, gathering some additional tech pieces along the way.” The group seemed to agree, even the shifty one who hadn’t spoken yet. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Ian Danver.” His voice stammered and stuttered, and I was not sure what he was so nervous about. He returned to his glancing.
“Okay. Anyway, I am not totally interested in why you are all here, or your personal histories. I only want confirmation that you can help make this journey a little simpler for me.” Silence. “I should mention there will be a reward.” I was not sure if I could give a reward that would be worthwhile, but I figure we’ll find things on the way.
One by one, the hodge-podge mix of people agreed to assist me in my journey to finding my parents.
Things were working out in my favor. I couldn’t help but think with fondness of the imp with the fuzzy teeth who led me to this juncture. With a group of four people in my wake, I returned to my house for the last time.